Dragoncrest Cliffs Bloodsport

An interesting sort, this one. Abandoned children; a weirdly strict sense of professionalism and aloofness wafting from them.
Maleah doesn't move as Masquerade darts off as soon as they'd presumed they were allowed. Not that she'd blame them — she herself had grown quite tired of all this talking.
I'll be here, she calls; but it's of no use. She could only hope they would have heard it echo from between the branches.
She chuffs, turning instead to better examine the tendrils of fungus before her. Here, she would remain for a good while, whether or not the mask-wearer decided to return.